


look at my king, all dressed in red

by sidnihoudini



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M, Mary Sue, Murder Vacation, POV Outsider, Post-Finale, Tattle Crime, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A VERY CANNIBAL CHRISTMAS? Notorious serial killer Hannibal Lecter and his ex-FBI agent partner Will Graham are still rumored to be on the run in Northern Europe.</p><p>Our sources spotted the pair in Aukstaitija, Lithuania - Lecter’s birthplace - just last month. Since the initial sighting they have been tracked to the Ivory Coast, where it is believed they are vacationing in Abidjan. The two have lived a lush life since breaking Lecter out of federal custody over a year ago. Lecter is worth millions of dollars, most of which was hidden from the authorities in various off-shore bank accounts during his incarceration.</p><p>The two continue to hide in plain sight while in West Africa. The United States has no extradition treaty with the Ivory Coast, where they have been celebrating the holidays together in a seaside resort. Visit Tattle Crime next week to see exclusive pictures of Lecter and Graham on vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. take me like a vitamin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Staticraining](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Staticraining).



> I am actually the worst and started re-writing my [Hannigram Holiday Exchange](http://hannigramholidayexchange.tumblr.com/) fic from scratch on the 23rd. What originally began as a short murder husbands on a tropical vacation type story quickly morphed into 10k of this.
> 
> Anyways I hope you like it even though it's a few days late, Staticraining! I will be posting the entire thing tonight in chunks as I edit it; somehow it works better in parts for me.
> 
> Hope everyone had an awesome holidays, too :)

_A VERY CANNIBAL CHRISTMAS? Notorious serial killer Hannibal Lecter and his ex-FBI agent partner Will Graham are still rumored to be on the run in Northern Europe._

_Our sources spotted the pair in Aukstaitija, Lithuania - Lecter’s birthplace - just last month. Since the initial sighting they have been tracked to the Ivory Coast, where it is believed they are vacationing in Abidjan. The two have lived a lush life since breaking Lecter out of federal custody over a year ago. Lecter is worth millions of dollars, most of which was hidden from the authorities in various off-shore bank accounts during his incarceration._

_The two continue to hide in plain sight while in West Africa. The United States has no extradition treaty with the Ivory Coast, where they have been celebrating the holidays together in a seaside resort. Visit Tattle Crime next week to see exclusive pictures of Lecter and Graham on vacation._

*

The beach is dark, lit only with tiki torches and candles.

Will laughs, and whistles sharp over the music as he watches the woman from the next table over trying to dance. The dinner emcee has pulled her out of her chair, and is trying to teach her a traditional mapouka dance. She’s a little stiff in the joints - drunk and off rhythm - but it’s still fun to watch, and Will finds himself indulging.

Beside him Hannibal laughs too, enjoying the tail end of a joke with another one of the men at their table. He adds something quietly, a joke not meant for the table at large, and then breaks out into loud laughter, clapping twice before he leans forward to happily take a bite of his kachumbari.

“Do we have any other volunteers?” The emcee calls, voice muffled by the microphone as the woman finally gives up and retreats back to her table. She’s flushed but happy, the stem of a wine glass hanging loose in one hand.

Opposite Will, Sandra - a single American they first met on the flight in - laughs and begins to wave the emcee over.

“Oh you have to do it, you have to!” She babbles drunkenly, in the same moment that Will realizes she’s waving the emcee over on his behalf. Will finds himself falter inside, even though he’s still outwardly bubbling with laughter. He reaches for his wine, and throws half of it back in two gulps as Sandra raises her voice again and shouts, “ _Hi_ , over here! Someone over here wants to try!”

Hannibal looks entirely amused as Will sinks lower in the bamboo chair, and shakes his head. He finds himself blushing a little despite himself when the bright spotlight falls over their dinner plates, and everyone begins to clap politely.

“Geen, geen, geen,” He murmurs softly, waving both hands ‘no’ as the emcee makes his way over to their table. Hannibal is now openly laughing at the situation, enjoying the way that Will squirms when two palm leaf adorned dancers come over to try and get him out of his seat. He laughs again, still embarrassed but thankfully at least buzzed, and manages a polite, “No thank you.”

The dancers move away from their table, swaying beneath the bright spotlight, and their table laughs at Will’s reluctance.

“Oh, you should have tried!” Sandra cackles, face pink from laughter. “Dr. Fell, don’t you think he should have tried?”

Hannibal smiles, mouth closed, and nods. Hearts are practically bubbling from his eyes as he looks over at Will, still sitting pink cheeked in the chair beside him.

“I do agree, Sandra,” Hannibal murmurs, offering up another twinkly, amused look when Will grimaces at him.

With a sigh, Will leans back in his seat and tips back the remainder of his wine. He admits, “I don’t dance. Especially on vacation.”

“Now I don’t believe that,” Sandra admonishes, cutting into her barbecued meat. She glances up and adds, “You’re such a fun guy!”

Will can’t help but crack a smile at that. He even laughs a little - if only the people who used to know him could see him now.

“Dr. Fell brings that behavior out, I’m afraid,” Will manages, eyes sparkling in the tiki lights. “He truly inspires the worst in me.”

Even though the majority of the joke goes right over her head, Sandra laughs, and gives Hannibal a warm look over Will's shoulder.

“My darling,” Hannibal chides, looking over at Will with a smile. “Now that is not true at all.”

Will trades his wine glass for his steak knife, and with a grin, digs his heels in to tease, “You’re a bad influence.”

The time they’ve spent here has truly been enjoyable so far. On the night of their arrival, Will got drunk enough to act a little salacious. It was the precedent he’d been careful to set from the beginning: here, he was the kind of man who couldn’t keep anything to himself, too sloppy and loose lipped to keep a secret or his own sense.

Someone who wasn’t capable of cold blooded murder, or eating human flesh as a passage of consummation. It had been a pleasure to create such a caricature of himself, and Hannibal seemed to enjoy the process equally - entirely too happy to round Will up at the end of the night, and bolster him back to their private villa.

“You two are too much,” Sandra grins, as another course of food is brought to the table by the resort wait staff.

A group of professional dancers have now taken over the center performance area, and as they launch into a routine, Will finds himself getting wrapped up in the motion, the steady rhythm of their movement.

“Isn’t that right, my dear?” Hannibal asks a moment later, leaning close. A prompt to say something Will has missed; to agree.

Will moves his attention away from the dancers, and settles back in his chair as his half finished plate is whisked away. A fresh course of fish, artfully decorated, is laid in its place.

“Of course,” He agrees easily, despite losing track of the conversation long ago.

Hannibal offers him a small, private smile, and Will finds himself shivering at the way the tiki torches throw light across Hannibal’s structured face. He practically looks like a skeleton sitting here in the dark. A mark of death among life, a certain warmth in the pitch black dark that Will can no longer pretend he doesn’t find inviting.

Will likes it this way, in every way. He prefers to live in the shadows with Hannibal instead of out there, in the light.

Everything is familiar in the dark.

~

Later that night, Sandra walks back to her villa alone.

With the exception of the people she’s met at the resort since her arrival, she doesn’t have anyone else here.

The trip itself was originally intended as a romantic getaway with her husband, but has since become a personal journey in recovering from the discovery of his infidelity. Sandra wasn’t able to get a refund for his plane ticket, but the airline had agreed to upgrade her to a first class flight both ways. That was where she originally met Dr. Fell and his partner, Max.

On the plane she watched them for a very long time before saying anything.

It was obvious to Sandra from the very beginning that they were both from money - _old money_ \- the kind that someone grows up with, and is simply accustomed to having. It also didn’t take her very long to figure out that they were deeply involved with one another, as well. They were just so in sync, so deeply wrapped up in one another’s very presence, that it almost felt like an unforgivable intrusion to watch at all.

Over the course of the eighteen hour flight she chatted with them a few times, mostly because they were in the open suite opposite her and her mini bottle of champagne. It hadn’t been until they both arrived at the same resort - her in a taxi, them in some type of private car - that they really had the opportunity to get to know one another at all.

And that was a week and a half ago, now.

Since then, Sandra has become deeply aware of the fact that Dr. Fell is the exact type of person she would have fallen for ten years ago. It’s practically embarrassing. European, intelligent, long and lean and rich. He possesses all of her favorite traits, and then some.

Her impending divorce doesn’t help, either. Tonight she’s a little drunk and maudlin as she winds her way back to her semi-private villa, set further back on the resort property. Dr. Fell and Max are on the other side, in one of the few expensive beach front cabins; Sandra finds her mind straying back to them, regardless of the distance.

There’s something about the two of them, she thinks to herself, as she unlocks her front door. She just can’t put her finger on it yet.


	2. roses, bel air, take me there

After dinner Will and Hannibal take a walk along the beach, dark and never ending.

“People look at me like I’m your trophy,” Will complains, sour. He lets his bare toes sink into the sticky sand as they wander along the surf side by side, dress pants rolled up to their ankles.

Hannibal makes a soft, considering sound, and replies, “Let them think what they wish. It is better they underestimate you.”

“I don’t want people to _underestimate me_ ,” Will sighs. Pretend identity aside, he truly is a little drunk. “Sandra clearly thinks I’m some kind of toy to be played with.”

They walk in silence for a few feet, the only sound between them that of the ocean’s waves licking the shore.

“It is important to maintain the distinction between yourself, and what you create,” Hannibal finally says. He comes to a stop, and lets Will look him in the eye before he turns to face the ocean instead. “We are not the characters we pretend to be.”

Will frowns at that, and stares out at the horizon over the back of Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal’s right, of course, but Will has spent his entire life pretending to be someone he isn’t. It’s hardwired into him to become absorbed in the facades he creates.

“Sometimes you have to remind me,” He admits, finally. There are so few lights above them that the stars twinkle brightly. Despite the beauty of the universe around them, Will can still feel Hannibal watching him intently, his attention nowhere else. Will considers what he wants to say next, and then quietly settles on, “I get lost.”

Hannibal reaches out and wraps one arm around Will’s shoulders to tug their bodies close. They stand together silently, much like they did on the cliff, with Will’s cheek pressed against Hannibal’s chest, and his eyes quiet and tired. Hannibal looks up at the stars, finally, and rests his chin on the crown of Will’s head.

“We will always find each other in the dark,” Hannibal promises, sounding sure.

~

Sandra is at the breakfast bar the next morning when she sees Dr. Fell and Max again.

Neither seem very hungover, despite the throbbing in her own head. She offers up a soft wave and a matching smile when she and Max accidentally catch each other’s gaze over the waffle buffet, and then looks away to reach for a handful of fresh blueberries.

She’s been eating a lot on this trip. Drinking a lot, too, if she’s being completely honest with herself. When she gets back home to Boston, she’s going to have to register for one of those fancy cycling classes she always sees on TV. Their office receptionist started going to one on Newbury, and it’s been all she’s talked about since.

“Fresh blueberries,” She hears a familiar voice say, gently teasing.

For some reason she’s surprised when she turns around to see Max standing beside her, with a small, softly amused smile on his face.

“I eat them by the pound,” Sandra jokes, swallowing the memory of how tight her favorite dress was last night. “So you better find something else to eat, because these are mine!”

Max laughs, soft and controlled, and reaches to accept a warm plate of two freshly made waffles from the server standing behind the buffet table. He thanks them and reaches for a bowl full of mixed bananas and peaches; Sandra hopes he realizes she was joking about the blueberries.

“I’ve always had an aversion to berries,” He tells her easily, as though he can read her mind. He spoons a little pile of mixed fruit into the space beside his waffles, and adds, “I grew up in Hammonton, Jersey. Blueberry capital of the world.”

She finds herself laughing at the sudden East coast accent that drips from Max’s voice when he says ‘the world.’

“New Jersey?” Sandra asks, intrigued as she reaches for the whipped cream canister. At his returning curious glance, she adds, smiling, “I was born in Philly.”

Max raises his eyebrows, interested in what she has to say until his attention is instantly pulled away. Without even having to look up, Sandra knows it’s because Dr. Fell has joined them.

“Good morning, Sandra,” He greets, looking at her warmly. She feels her cheeks flush a little bit at the sudden, direct attention, until he turns to Max and asks, “Are you only having waffles this morning, darling? There is a breakfast barbecue set up on the other side of the dining area.”

Sandra watches the two of them interact as inconspicuously as she can, pretending to intently study the contents of her plate. She has no idea how Max manages not to melt or redden underneath Dr. Fell’s unwavering gaze; to be the lone recipient of so much care and attention has Sandra’s toes curling, and she’s only a voyeur to their interaction.

“No, not today,” Max replies easily, reaching for the whipped cream. “I prefer your cooking.”

Something about Max’s response sparks a surprised, genuine reaction in Dr. Fell. Sandra taps icing sugar onto her pile of blueberries, and glances at them from the corners of her eyes. Dr. Fell stares at Max in the same way that Sandra has seen people stare at priceless pieces of artwork; raptured. She wonders how often Dr. Fell thinks about keeping Max behind a set of red velvet ropes and glass.

“You do a mean southern barbecue or something, Dr. Fell?” She finds herself asking.

The heavy moment between Dr. Fell and Max breaks - Sandra can practically hear the atmosphere around them shatter like a pane of broken glass the moment they manage to tear their eyes away from one another. As Max goes back to adding toppings to his waffles, there’s a tiny, unchecked smirk on his face.

“Not quite,” Dr. Fell replies, sounding amused. She gets the feeling that she entertains him like a mouse would a cat. “I will admit to grilling Korean style barbecue often. If you’ve never had bulgogi, I would love to treat you one day.”

Intrigued, Sandra offers up a genuine smile at the invitation, and begins to move in the direction of the coffee bar.

“I’ll hold you to that,” She lies.

Something tells her the moment they leave here, she will neither see either of them again.

~

After breakfast Will finds himself on edge, skirting around their villa, unable to settle down.

The need for hyperactivity has been a side effect of everything; of life. Though he was able to stave off any impending mental breakdown after going over the cliff, there were certain side effects that came along with leaving your wife and faking your own death that Will just hasn’t been able to shake off.

Hannibal helps, though. He also sees through Will like cellophane paper.

“I’m afraid Freddie is going to lead the cavalry to us,” Will admits, staring at his wrinkled toes poking out of the bathwater.

On the other side of the small suite, Hannibal is standing in front of the bathroom mirror, studying his gunshot wound. It’s mostly healed, just a sick pucker of ill-sewn flesh above and to the left of his belly button. Every time Will sees it, he feels the same rush he did watching the bullet originally go in.

“They cannot take us back,” Hannibal murmurs, looking at Will through the mirror. Will frowns, listening, and tilts his head back against the edge of the bath tub. “Should they find us, we will leave.”

Will stares up at the wooden ceiling slats, and sighs, “You mean we’ll _run_.”

“No,” Hannibal replies simply, coming to stand beside the clawfoot tub. Will turns his attention away from the ceiling, and instead studies the way Hannibal looks inside his pants. The resulting visual warms him. “We have faced our nightmares, Will. There is nothing left to run from.”

Sighing, Will lifts his hand away from the safety of the warm bath water, and extends it towards Hannibal.

He wraps his fingers around Hannibal’s belt when he’s close enough to touch, and then drags Hannibal forward dick first, until his thighs are pressed up against the outside edge of the tub.

“Not knowing terrifies me,” Will admits quietly, as Hannibal finally relents and leans forward, arching over the tub to rest one hand on the other side of the porcelain. It squeaks against his skin as he adjusts his position and then rests his free hand over Will’s shoulder, stroking his thumb gently over the warm, wet skin of Will’s collarbone.

Hannibal murmurs, “I know.”

“Tell me everything again,” Will sighs, closing his eyes and sinking back against the water. He lets himself lean into the feeling of Hannibal’s thumb as it coasts back and forth over his bare skin.

Humming, Hannibal pushes away from the tub, and says, “Give me one moment.”

Will opens his eyes at the request, and watches Hannibal as he moves back towards the vanity area of the room. He reaches his toiletries bag where it sits at the edge of the sink, unzips it, and rummages around for a few moments. Will sinks an inch deeper into the water, until he’s up to his chin, and listens to the sound of Hannibal opening a little metal box, and tapping something out onto his palm.

When he returns, he kneels down at the side of the tub, dress pants pressing against the damp tiled floor.

“We will stay in Côte d’Ivoire until we have recovered,” Hannibal murmurs, raising his left hand to curve around the back of Will’s head. With his free hand, Hannibal holds something between his thumb and pointer finger in front of Will’s mouth, and continues, “We will eat well, and drink wine. We will have our fill of this life.”

Blinking slowly, Will studies Hannibal’s expression, and then opens his mouth when he realizes Hannibal is holding a pill out for him.

He lets himself relax into it, until Hannibal is the only thing holding up the weight of his head. He sets the pill on Will’s tongue with his free hand.

“When we are ready, we will travel to our new home in Belarus. It waits for us in the middle of the forest,” Hannibal continues, watching as Will swallows the pill dry. Still cradling Will’s skull, Hannibal leans forward, and rests his forehead against Will’s temple. “The judicial system in Belarus lacks independence. It is subject to political interference; very easy to get into and out of without being seen. The only thing you will need to worry about, is brushing up on your Russian.”

Will closes his eyes, and murmurs, “I don’t know any Russian.”

“Than I will help you learn,” Hannibal replies, evenly. He brushes his lips against Will’s cheekbone.

Making a soft noise in the back of his throat, Will asks, “Did you give me xanax?”

“Yes,” Hannibal agrees, nosing against Will’s hair.

Exhaling, Will feels himself relax further into the water. He manages a soft, “Okay. What about extradition?”

“Belarus does not have an extradition treaty with the United States,” Hannibal replies easily, pressing another kiss against the side of Will’s face. He tightens the grip he has on the crown of Will’s head, and adds, “At that point, it will not matter that we are both federally wanted and registered American fugitives.”

Will turns his head, and looks directly at Hannibal’s face for the first time since sinking into the tub.

“You’ll take care of me,” Will says, stupidly. He can take care of himself; Hannibal knows he can take care of himself.

He wants Hannibal to make sure he’s safe, anyways.

“Yes,” Hannibal agrees immediately, watching as Will’s body begins to relax. He leans forward and kisses Will on the mouth, and then adds, “Endlessly.”

Will breathes out, a soft, agreeable noise, and nods, wrapping his fingers around the back curve of Hannibal’s shoulder to drag him close. When Hannibal’s mouth is in front of him, Will kisses him again, letting his wet hand slide over Hannibal’s shoulder and across the middle of his back. He traces the Verger scar with his fingers and groans softly, hips arching away from the bottom curve of the tub.

The xanax starts off as a buzz in his legs and hands. He can’t stop kissing Hannibal - it isn’t a side effect of the medication - he is simply unable and unwilling to be away from his mouth for any length of time.

Hannibal’s hand coasts over Will’s chest, thumb teasing over Will’s nipple before his fingers coast down to Will’s rib cage. His fingers dip beneath the water as he moves steadily towards Will’s hip.

“Take care of me,” Will gasps, panting already. 

He leans his head back against the edge of the tub and swallows tightly, leaving Hannibal to kiss and suck at his chin before sliding down the column of his throat, towards his adam’s apple. Hannibal loves to bite and suck and kiss at Will’s neck, pure evidence of the love he is now allowed to bestow unlimitedly to Will whenever it strikes him.

Will pulls his own arm back out of the water, now so relaxed that it feels like his bones are made of brick. He groans and arches back against the tub again, twisting his wet fingers in the hair at the back of Hannibal’s head.

Hannibal bites his chest in retaliation, as Will slides his opposite hand down his own body, beneath the level of the bath water. It’s beginning to chill, no longer the deep warmth it was when Will first filled the tub up. The cool water is erotic in its own way, a different sense expanding over his body as the drugs warm him from the inside.

Will slides one hand down over his own dick, moaning as Hannibal perfectly times another bite to his chest.

He’s half hard and unable to think about anything else, other than the way it feels when he begins to jerk himself off, breathless and panting. Will’s mouth drops open and he gasps, head thumping back against the edge of the tub when he touches a particularly sensitive spot.

Hannibal reaches down and removes Will’s hand from his cock, instead setting it on his chest. Will doesn’t try and fight it, he just moves his fingers to touch and pinch at his own nipple. He chews his bottom lip and arches away from the tub as Hannibal palms his stomach and slides his hand around to the small of Will’s back.

One night last week, Will laid on their bed for hours, propped up on his hands and knees as Hannibal fingerfucked him relentlessly, not giving in until Will was a gasping mess and dripping come. There was no one orgasm, simply a never-ending roll of peaks and releases that left Will shaking and covered in sweat.

By the time Hannibal fucked him, Will was completely empty and finally came dry, fingers twisting into the headboard as he drove himself back against Hannibal’s unrelenting rhythm. A few hours later, still feeling on edge without a proper orgasm, Hannibal jerked him until he came in the shower on shaking legs.

Will is thinking about that afternoon and feeling empty in its wake when Hannibal slides two fingers into him easily, sucking at Will’s throat as he does so. At the immediate sensation Will feels himself groan, one arm winding around Hannibal’s neck tightly as he arches up and away from the tub, heel squeaking against the inside of the porcelain.

Hannibal doesn’t say anything, just curves his fingers and uses them in Will’s body to move him back down. Will pants loudly against the side of Hannibal’s face, unable to loosen his grip around Hannibal’s neck as Hannibal begins to move his curved fingers inside of Will. He doesn’t pull out, only flexes his fingers forwards and backwards, feeling the way that Will’s stomach muscles jerk every time he thumps against the interior of Will’s body.

“Don’t tease me,” Will manages, loosening his grip on Hannibal’s neck, and instead sliding his hand along the line of his shoulder until he can palm Hannibal’s back scar again. He digs his fingers into the burnt flesh there and knocks his head back against the tub, looking up at the ceiling and squirming as Hannibal adds another finger and begins to fuck him relentlessly, pushing them in as far as they’ll fit before dragging them out and doing it again and again.

Will grips the side of the tub and arches up into Hannibal’s fingers, breathing uneven and rough as Hannibal fingers him.

“When we are finally home, I will lay you on the dining room table, and I will touch only your insides,” Hannibal promises, sounding out of breath and drunk as he rubs his thumb against Will’s balls and slows down his fingers. He slides in and out of Will slowly, until Will is keening in the back of his throat, and adds, “I will put every part of myself inside you that fits.”

Something clicks in Will’s brain, like the first moment a flame touches an explosive, and he grabs Hannibal by the belt roughly. Hannibal doesn’t have much of a choice when Will pulls him forward; his fingers are pulled out and he falls into the water, shin hitting the outside of the bathtub before he is forced to climb inside of it.

Still wearing his dress pants from breakfast, Hannibal steps into the water and sinks down onto his knees over one of Will’s legs. He lifts Will’s other leg and sets it over the edge of the tub, forcing Will to sink backwards and tilt his hips up into the air. Hannibal leans forward, one hand on the edge of the tub by Will’s head as he slides his other fingers back into Will and sets up a quick and relentless rhythm, more of a means to an end than drawing pleasure out.

Will’s leg muscles tighten up and he gasps, head thumping back against the edge of the tub as he stares at Hannibal, half soaked and on top of him, arm muscles tight with the effort he is fucking Will with his fingers.

“Take me,” Will manages to get out, before making a low noise and closing his eyes as he comes, body racking as Hannibal fucks him through it, thumb pressing between his balls as Will tries to twist away from his hand.

Gasping, Will rolls his head from side to side and opens his eyes, now draped beneath a full body buzz as both the orgasm and the xanax coast through him. Hannibal is still breathing hard, chest working up and down where he’s still knelt over Will’s body. He looks completely overwhelmed, facial expression twitching and jerking as he looks at Will sprawled beneath him.

Will reaches forward without thinking about it, grabbing Hannibal by the hips, fingers resting against soaked fabric.

“No,” Hannibal manages, as Will’s gaze fixes on Hannibal’s hard cock, trapped behind the zipper of his pants.

Groaning, Will leans back again, though he lets his fingers trace from Hannibal’s belt, over the strained line of his zipper. He pushes up against Hannibal’s body from underneath him, and squeezes himself around Hannibal’s fingers.

“Will,” Hannibal jerks, hips arching forward.

Hannibal removes his fingers from inside Will, despite the noise Will makes, and slides his hand up Will’s side instead, until he can lean over Will’s body and kiss him solidly on the mouth.

“The harder it is to get,” Hannibal murmurs, “The more I want to keep it.”

Will groans and tilts his head back against the tub.

“You can have it,” He pants, eyes rolling back in his head.


	3. it's like a dark paradise

Sandra would never admit this, but she spends the afternoon trying to find Dr. Fell on Facebook.

She’s kind of an expert at online sleuthing. In college she researched both of her long term boyfriends before ever meeting either of them face to face. Even though neither relationship ended up working out, she had enjoyed the sensation of being the perfect girl for just a few moments in time.

Shortly after the end of the second relationship, she met the man who would go on to become her ex-husband. He despised social networking in every form - both then and now - and that should have been her first warning sign, really.

Never trust someone without a Facebook account.

She drinks a glass of wine over her laptop, and digs around in the recesses of Facebook’s search tool for a while. Finding Dr. Fell quicjly proves to be more of a challenge than originally anticipated. Sandra finds two different profiles that look like they might fit, but neither of them obviously him. The first profile features just the default grey icon as its profile photo, and the second features a picture of a scruffy dog.

Did Dr. Fell ever mention having a dog?

As the sun begins to go down, Sandra throws back the remainder of her wine, and begins to get ready for dinner instead

Even though she finds herself unable to truly relax in Dr. Fell’s presence, she does enjoy being around him. He’s a very sharp, clever man, fun to tease and talk to. Before she slides on her heels and moves towards the front door of her suite, she also admits to herself that she would die to hear Dr. Fell call her “dear” just one time.

The walk to the outdoor dining area is short and refreshing. By the time she gets to her usual spot at the table, drinks are already being served, and Dr. Fell and Max are sitting side by side watching a fire performer.

“We meet again,” She greets, automatically cringing a little at the words she chooses to let tumble from her mouth.

Dr. Fell looks up at her warmly, though, a certain brightness in his eyes as he smiles. Sandra blushes immediately - not because she is the lone recipient of such direct attention - but because she notices the red bite marks that start underneath Max’s earlobe and disappear down into the collar of his shirt. As she adjusts her position on the seat, she sees that even Dr. Fell’s chin is red, stubble burnt - and freshly so.

“A pleasure, as always,” Dr. Fell replies, resting one hand along the back of Max’s chair when he notices her staring.

Max offers a quiet nod and a smile; Sandra takes him in without meaning to. His lips are still red and a bit swollen, his eyes glassy and relaxed. He’s stoned and freshly fucked. While Sandra was sitting in her budget suite with a glass of chianti and Dr. Fell’s name in a search engine, Max was a few villas away, sitting in Dr. Fell’s lap.

“There’s a rum bar tonight,” She says, watching the way Max leans back into Dr. Fell’s touch. “I’ll get you both dancing yet.”

As Dr. Fell laughs, another one of the men that Sandra has come to know over the last few weeks sits down opposite her.

Dan, like his name, is middle aged and bland. Sandra knows that his hobby is collecting British television on DVD, only because he has talked about it at length multiple times despite her insistence on changing the subject of the conversation to something - anything - else.

“Ah, the rum bar,” Dan intones, touching the cutlery on either side of his plate. Sandra notices Dr. Fell looking at Dan’s movement out of the corner of his eye. “Perhaps we will get a repeat performance of the other night, then.”

Sandra immediately feels her cheeks heat up, a blush flushing from her cheekbones down.

The third night Sandra got here, after fielding a particularly intense and useless conversation with her ex-husband, was spent consuming copious amounts of booze. Wine, whisky, rum, and beer - it hadn’t mattered, she simply consumed. The night ended, embarrassingly enough, throwing up into a garden of ferns.

Although Dr. Fell and Max were both there, they have been kind enough to leave it firmly in the past.

“Sandra, I would be pleased to dance with you tonight,” Dr. Fell says, completely ignoring Dan’s rude statement.

Sandra feels her blush deepen - she’s not sure what’s worse, being made fun of by Dan or having Dr. Fell be so openly kind to her - but nods despite her embarrassment.

She reaches for her wine, and ignores the way Dan frowns at her.

~

Will takes another half a bar of xanax between dessert and coffee.

The medication keeps him lucid but relaxed, and by the time the waiter comes back with Hannibal’s wine he’s laughing at one of Sandra’s dad jokes.

“Dr. Fell loves puns,” Will grins, petting Hannibal on the shoulder. Hannibal looks at him sideways, a genuine smile on his mouth as he takes in Will’s glassy stare and relaxed disposition.

While he prefers Will spitting and bloody from the mouth, this does just fine, as well.

“I believe Dr. Fell also loves dancing,” Sandra smiles, fixing Will with a pointed look as she scrapes the last of her cheesecake from the china plate. “We had a long conversation over dinner - I didn’t know he studied ballet for many years!”

Laughing, Will pats Hannibal’s cheek lightly and then shrugs, too caught up in staring at him to say anything else.

“Perhaps I will be able to convince Max to dance with me,” Hannibal says, covering for Will’s dazedness. He takes a sip of wine and offers Sandra a genuine smile. “And we will have a live demonstration.”

Sandra makes an ‘ooooh’ noise and claps, laughing as she sips at her drink and settles back into her chair.

“I don’t dance,” Will reiterates, reaching for his glass of carbonated water. He raises his eyebrows and glares at Hannibal.

When Hannibal grins, Will feels that familiar flush of excitement at the sight of his sharp incisors despite the cool expression on his own face.

“There were many things you did not do before you met me,” Hannibal says simply. “They neither begin nor end with dance.”

Will raises his eyebrows in surprise and laughs, a little startled. A Temptations song he remembers his dad playing often begins to drift down from the overhead speakers.

“You’re not,” Will manages, as Hannibal throws half of his wine back and gets to his feet in one motion. Sandra cannot be stopped now, laughing and grinning as she claps and looks up at Hannibal adoringly. Will flattens his expression with a frown, and adds, “ _Dr. Fell_.”

Hannibal looks down at him, clearly amused, and raises one eyebrow.

“Darling,” Is all he says.

Will opens his mouth, anticipating saying something snappish and sour.

Instead, what comes out is, “Fine.”

Sandra lets out a sharp whistle as Hannibal takes Will’s hand and leads him towards the dance floor, where entire groups have already formed to dance along to the music. Although some of the resort dancers are doing local tribal dancing, the majority of the tourists are simply keeping the rhythm.

“I’m surprised you agreed to dance,” Hannibal says honestly, wrapping one arm around Will’s waist as they disappear into a group of women laughing and doing popular dance moves from the eighties. Will’s pretty sure they’re part of a bachelorette party that never ends.

Will rests one hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and begins to roll his hips in rhythm to the music.

“I never said I couldn’t dance,” Will murmurs, leaning back to look into Hannibal’s face.

The moment Will’s hips begin to lift from side to side, moving fluidly, Hannibal’s mouth drops open.

“ _Devil_ boy,” Hannibal breathes, leaning in and pressing his mouth against Will’s ear.

Will, stoned and feeling euphoric, laughs against the side of Hannibal’s cheek. They move together around the floor, and although Hannibal is the one who leads, Will is the one who keeps the rhythm and movement rolling. Hannibal simply grips at him and directs them around the clusters of drunk people otherwise not paying attention.

As the Temptations song ends and turns into a more tropical, bass driven rhythm beat, Will takes a few steps back and leads Hannibal behind a set of potted palm trees that line the edge of the dance floor.

“Regret not fucking me in the bath when you had your chance?” Will asks, grabbing at Hannibal’s tie and dragging their mouths together.

Hannibal rolls their hips together, making Will laugh as he feels Hannibal’s hard on press against his lower stomach.

“I only regret underestimating you,” Hannibal breathes, reaching up to grip Will by the jaw so he can direct the angle of their kisses, pressing Will back against the wall solidly. Will’s head clunks against the stone and he laughs, dragging Hannibal even closer, until they’re pressed together from ribs to thighs.

As he kisses Hannibal he begins to roll his stomach again, trying to remember what he learned as a twenty one year old living in New Orleans. The girl he dated while training for the force had been a belly dancer, and had drunkenly taught him a thing or two in many a Bourbon Street bar.

“It is a deep regret,” Hannibal pants, letting both of his hands rest on either side of Will’s waist. He drags Will’s shirt up and tries to lean away so that he can see the rolling muscles in Will’s stomach, but doesn’t get very far before he is overwhelmed by the urge to press back in again.

Will winds Hannibal’s tie around his fist twice, and pushes away from the wall with his hips first. Hannibal naturally goes and Will follows, moving until Hannibal is against the wall instead.

“Very, very _deep_ ,” Will murmurs, leaning back in to kiss Hannibal with a smile.

When he pulls away again, Hannibal is looking at him dazedly, eyes glassy and drunk on endorphins.

“I want you to take me home and fuck me now,” Will adds, beginning to step backwards, and lead Hannibal out of their temporary hiding space. On the floor, a group of young people take tequila shots and laugh, cringing and dancing through the taste. Will holds onto Hannibal’s hips, pressing himself into Hannibal’s hard on again, before adding, “And tomorrow, I want to eat.”

Hannibal’s gaze clouds over, something deep possessing him before he grabs Will’s chin with one hand and kisses him deeply.

~

Sandra wanders over to the bar for another drink when it’s been twenty minutes since she last saw Dr. Fell and Max.

“Have you seen two guys?” She asks the bartender, as he’s pouring her a new drink - a vodka soda this time. “One is a bit taller than me, curly dark hair, really blue eyes? The other guy is super European and dressed in a really expensive suit?”

The bartender pushes the new drink towards her and smiles, “There are like six guys that fit both of those descriptions here.”

“You are… totally right,” Sandra manages, laughing. “Sorry, nevermind.”

Taking a sip of her drink, she steps away from the bar and wanders the edges of the dance floor, trying to avoid those coming and going.

Dan catches her as she’s lurking by one of the loudspeakers.

“They already left,” He says flatly, looking at her with an odd expression on his face.

Sandra frowns and wonders for a split second if he’s lying to her. She can’t figure out why, other than the one drunken escapade, but Dan doesn’t like her very much. He doesn’t really seem to like anyone, except for Max, who he stares at constantly. She kind of gets that, though.

“Oh, thanks,” She manages, sipping her drink one more time. “I thought they would have said bye.”

Grimacing, Dan replies, “They were indisposed.”

~

“Nasty, naughty boy,” Hannibal pants, pressing Will’s knees back into his chest.

Beneath him on the bed, Will groans and arches up against Hannibal as much as he can.

The only thing Will is still wearing are his underwear, which Hannibal has left around his knees and is currently using as a handle to hold both of his legs back. Will grips Hannibal’s forearm and tries to stop some of the noises babbling out of his mouth, litanies of ‘oh, no, no’ that seem to tumble out no matter how much he tries.

Hannibal leans down and sucks the hollow of Will’s throat as he continues to thrust in and out - a sharp, punishing rhythm - the kind that only comes after having multiple erections without release. He is rock hard, and Will can feel every single inch as it slides in and out of him. Panting, Will reaches up with one hand and wraps his fingers around Hannibal’s face so he can push his thumb into Hannibal’s mouth.

Without faltering, Hannibal bites and sucks at the pad of Will’s thumb, rolling his tongue as Will presses back against it and groans at the lack of resistance he feels in return.

He knows that Hannibal would let him do anything he ever wanted. There is no limit to the way that Hannibal loves him.

The thought alone is enough to make Will moan again, and he drops his hand away from Hannibal’s mouth so he can wrap his fingers around his own cock, jerking himself off in a counter-rhythm to Hannibal fucking him.

“I’m not gonna last,” Will babbles, gasping as he tips his head back against the pillow and grips the base of his dick quickly, jaw working as he tries to stave off coming. Hannibal groans in his throat and doubles his efforts, letting go of Will’s underwear to hold onto Will’s calves instead. He spreads Will’s legs open as much as he can within the confines of his twisted underwear and begins to thrust unrelentingly, letting the headboard bump up against the wall as he sets a punishing rhythm.

Will groans and closes his eyes, reaching up to cushion himself against the headboard as Hannibal begins to fuck him up the bed.

He realizes that trying to hold off is hopeless; he can feel orgasm licking at his gut, impending with Hannibal fucking him so thoroughly that not coming is no longer an option. Will opens his eyes and looks up at Hannibal as he jerks himself twice and then starts to come, two ropes of it striping high over his stomach. The next two are smaller, and land across his skin each time that Hannibal thumps against his prostate.

“Agh,” He manages, chest heaving as he drops his fingers away from his dick to drag through the come on his stomach instead.

Hannibal lets go of one of Will’s legs to lean forward and hold onto the headboard. He gets another few pumps in before he looks down and sees Will slowly jerking himself through the aftershocks with a hand full of his own come. As soon as the visual processes Hannibal grunts and feels his muscles tighten. He closes his eyes and fucks into Will deeply, burying himself as far as he can go as he comes.

He lets go of the headboard and drops down on top of Will’s body, enjoying the way Will automatically wraps around him, one arm coming up, and one leg wrapped around the backs of Hannibal’s calves. Hannibal is breathing heavy, chest heaving as he settles on top of Will’s body.

“Stay there for a minute,” Will breathes, hand still trapped between their stomachs.

Hannibal buries his face in the crook of Will’s neck and inhales deeply, letting his eyes drift closed in contentment.

~

Dan weirds Sandra out enough that after her vodka soda she staggers back to her room alone.

For a moment she entertains the idea of wandering in the direction of Dr. Fell and Max’s villa, but in the end she manages to think about the situation clearly. The only reason two adults would disappear so quickly would be to fuck or fight, and she was part of neither scenario.

She thinks about both, though. It’s a short walk home but she makes it a long one on purpose, wandering the paths loosely as she lets her mind drift. She imagines both situations all the way through, though neither are particularly compelling in the way she’d like. From what she’s observed of them both, she imagines sex between the two of them would include a lot of hand-holding and “darlings.”

Fighting would probably be even less interesting, though she could see Max getting snappy.

Neither option is particularly compelling, though she can’t quite figure out why.

Once she gets home she cracks a bottle of wine from the mini bar under the counter, and drinks a glass of it by herself in bed.


	4. i'd follow you down, down, down

The next morning, Will finds Hannibal sitting alone on the porch not long after sunrise.

“I made coffee,” He says quietly, setting a fresh mug down beside Hannibal’s sketchbook and tumbler of rum. His heart softens when he sees his own familiar profile sketched lightly against the rough paper. Hannibal makes a soft noise, and pushes the sketchbook aside. 

The early morning ocean roars against the surf before them, waves crashing and breaking against the ivory coast.

“Thank you for last night,” Will murmurs, taking a seat in the chair opposite Hannibal’s. Hannibal looks over curiously, interested in Will’s sudden bout of gratitude. Will frowns in return, caught up in what he knows he has to say. He sets Hannibal’s iPad beside his coffee, on top of the sketchbook. “Freddie knows where we are. She’s been posting almost daily.”

A cacophony of expression flickers across Hannibal in less time than it would take anyone else to realize he’s reacted at all.

“Do you suspect she’s here?” Hannibal asks, glancing down at the backlit article.

It’s standard _Tattle Crime_ fare. A three paragraph post, formatted to take advantage of ad placement. At the top of the page is a blown out screenshot of a gas station security camera that caught them en route to the airport two weeks ago. Of course by the time anyone at the bureau discovered the footage, they were already safely out of state lines and over international waters.

“I’m not sure,” Will answers honestly, pouring a bit of Hannibal’s morning rum into his own coffee. “Would it matter if she were?”

Hannibal considers that for a moment, before replying, “No. There is nothing Jack or anyone else in the FBI could do now.”

“I wouldn’t let them take you away from me, either,” Will agrees easily, looking out over the water.

The ocean has become dizzyingly comforting over the last few months. He will never forget the feeling of Hannibal’s body wrapping around his as they plunged into the Atlantic; one day, he will die with the taste of salt water on his tongue. He will make sure it’s the way he goes.

“When we are ready, we will leave for Belarus,” Hannibal promises, sliding the iPad back towards Will. “Then we will be home.”

Will feels himself smiling at the sentiment, as much as he feels he should want to fight it. Hannibal has shown him photos of the house that will be theirs, purchased before Hannibal’s incarceration but after Will’s. Set in the middle of the woods, miles and miles of property separating them from everyone else in the world. Will has already found himself daydreaming about dogs, motors, and a library full of books he hasn’t had the chance to touch in years.

“Until then, I suppose we should enjoy what the resort has to offer,” Will smiles. Something about the way Hannibal looks at him right then makes the anxiety and fear melt away. He steels himself, and adds, “I meant what I said last night.”

Nodding, Hannibal reaches for his sketchbook, and flips it open to the piece he has been working on throughout the week.

“I know. I am making arrangements for dinner. And if Freddie makes an appearance in the meantime,” Hannibal murmurs, glancing over at Will. “Then we will say ‘hello’ right back. And perhaps have an additional guest for our meal.”

Will feels his adrenaline buzz at that. Nodding, he leans back against the chair, and settles back to enjoy his coffee.

~

Sandra sleeps past eleven, and misses Dr. Fell and Max at breakfast.

For some reason she feels hyper aware of her surroundings this morning. She’s not sure if it’s because of the hangover or something else, but it keeps her on her toes through chowing down a bowl of cold cereal and drinking two cups of coffee, one right after another.

She runs into Dan after eating breakfast, and makes awkward small talk with him over nothing.

The best news that comes from it is finding out Dan will be going home in two days. He’s here alone, something she hasn’t quite been able to figure out, and has apparently finished whatever grey area job it was that he came here for. He refuses to tell her any details about it, just that it’s a contract assignment. He continually hints at the fact that the job is a secret one.

Sandra finally waves goodbye after twenty soul sucking minutes, and walks back to her room in a bit of a fog.

Because she’s on vacation, with only a week left, she opens up the windows and crawls back into bed for a nap.

She has plenty of time to laze around before there’s anywhere she needs to be. Her only plan for the afternoon is an island themed aerobics class at three, and maybe relaxing poolside after.

~

They’ve been running up and down the beach at least once a day since their arrival here, which has helped a lot.

Hannibal keeps telling him that they should take up boxing together, but Will doesn’t see that ending in anything other than a little bit of blood and a lot of semen. Put he and Hannibal in a ring together and it would be a lot like having an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

That being said, he’s never been more thankful for Hannibal’s insistence on keeping up cardio despite their growing bevy of ailments. It makes him feel not so bad about eating fatty meals every night, and drinking to excess.

“Do you have anyone in mind?” Hannibal asks over lunch, making a pot of post-run coffee. The suite came equipped with a french press and full coffee bar; Hannibal has since taken pictures from every angle, so Will assumes a near exact duplicate of the set up will be appearing once they arrive in Belarus.

Will frowns and fiddles with one of the fabric napkins folded on the table in front of him, ready and waiting to go.

“No one from a family,” He says unnecessarily; Hannibal wouldn’t be that stupid, anyways. “No one that works here.”

Frowning, Hannibal brings their drinks over on a little metal tray, and sets it down on the table between them. Will lets go of the napkin, and watches as Hannibal reaches for the little pot of creamer first. He’s gone off of black coffee, and no longer has to use sugar to mask its bitter taste.

Hannibal’s coffee, on the other hand, is always dulcet and perfectly clouded with cream.

“Who was that…” Will trails off, watching Hannibal’s hands as he finishes preparing their coffee. He taps a quick rhythm against the table’s edge while Hannibal finishes with their drinks, and then settles into the chair opposite. “That guy who always sits at our table at dinner. Don?”

Without thinking, Hannibal replies, “Dan. He is a single occupant, here on contract work of some kind. Very rude.”

“Yes!” Will agrees immediately, knowingly sealing Dan’s fate. “He’s been a real dick to Sandra.”

Hannibal takes a demure sip of his own coffee, and sets it down before adding, “He also has a very bad habit of staring.”

“What, at you?” Will frowns, confused. He picks his coffee up, and laughs at Hannibal’s returning steely look. “Hannibal, you can’t kill someone because they’re looking at me. Lots of people look at me.”

Looking sour, Hannibal sips his coffee and replies, “We will use your reason, then, with the same result. You feel that this is the right thing to do?”

“I don’t think it’s right,” Will counters, frowning. He finds himself glancing over his shoulder as though he’s expecting Jack to be there, standing in the shadows. A different kind of devil on his shoulder. Will steadies himself, and looks at Hannibal, “I think it’s necessary.”

Hannibal studies Will’s expression for a moment, face serious. Will knows he’s waiting for some kind of betrayal to show there, but nothing comes. Will doesn’t think he could betray Hannibal now, even if he wanted to.

They are one and the same.

“We will host a dinner tomorrow night, then,” Hannibal finally agrees. He watches Will’s mouth as Will sips his coffee, and then leans back, relaxing into the chair. “And we will leave the morning after.”

Intrigued, Will sets his coffee down gently, and smiles.

“You should invite Sandra,” He says, thinking of her blonde hair and the way she has unknowingly, quickly become his friend.

Hannibal seems to be thinking the same thing.

“I doubt she would miss it for the world,” He replies, amused.

~

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Sandra exclaims, almost knocking her drink over.

The three of them are resting poolside in the late afternoon. Dr. Fell is dry on the lounge beside her, and Max is in the water.

“In effort to maintain complete transparency, I must admit I have not yet finished the menu,” Dr. Fell admits, sounding genuinely apologetic as he smiles over at her. “But I believe I may be able to fulfill my promise of Korean barbecue yet.”

Sandra looks away from Dr. Fell first, letting her gaze move back to Max against the side of the pool. He’s grinning up at her, sunglasses on his nose, with both arms folded over one another against the marble edge.

“Well, I don’t think I can turn that down,” Sandra admits, as she leans back against the lounger and closes her eyes.

From beside her, she hears Dr. Fell reply, “Well, we certainly would love to have you for dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for tonight! The final three parts will be posted tomorrow - I'd love to hear your thoughts in the meantime :)


	5. palms reflecting in your eyes

They know Dan’s routine well enough to sneak into his room without issue.

He’s on the cheaper side of the resort, in the little bachelor style rooms that sit four to a villa in neat stacks along the far side of the property. Although neither Will nor Hannibal have visited Sandra in her room, from her description alone it sounds like she is in an accommodation similar to Dan’s. Neither accommodation has particularly good security, or a significant employee presence.

Everything inside Dan’s room is wholly unremarkable. He has one suitcase, propped open against the furthest wall, spilling cheap athletic wear and tropical printed shirts. Will rummages through Dan’s belongings for a few minutes, but comes back with absolutely nothing they can use against him. It’s almost like he has been stripped of all personality, though Will can’t figure out if Dan has done it for a reason, or if one man can truly be so bland.

Bland Dan.

“Something isn’t right here,” Will murmurs, glancing around the room.

Hannibal is standing beside Dan’s makeshift office set-up: a cheap laptop and notebook sat on the small kitchenette table.

He raises an eyebrow at Will’s returning stare, and picks up Dan’s notebook with a latex gloved hand.

“This is a boy with something worth hiding,” Hannibal assesses, turning his gaze from Will to the notebook in his hand. He flips through the first few pages, before setting it back down on top of Dan’s laptop. “He is wholly unremarkable.”

Still frowning, Will pivots on his back foot, looking for something - anything…

“It’s meant to be this way,” He says slowly, as he takes in what might as well be a suitcase full of character props, and the lack of anything else in the room. This is a design. “He’s painting as much of a picture as we are.”

Hannibal is still thumbing through Dan’s things, looking particularly bored.

“You think he has an ulterior motive?” Hannibal asks, curious. For him, Will is the most interesting part of this room.

Scratching at the side of his head, Will turns around again, but lets his eyes close this time. There’s something here. It’s close, but he can’t quite put his finger on it...

“It’s not an ulterior motive,” Will says suddenly, eyes popping open. “He’s _tracking_ us, Hannibal.”

Hannibal looks at him strangely. They hold one another's gaze as Hannibal considers Will’s theory and realizes it could hold weight.

“Then I wonder who is on the other end of the leash?” Hannibal muses, before continuing along the line of clunky, teak colored furniture pushed up against the wall. “Do you suspect Jack?”

He passes the kitchenette table, the TV stand, an empty set of dresser drawers, and finally comes to stop in front of the small black safe bolted solidly into the floor. Hannibal drops down onto one knee to get a closer look at the safe door. Behind him, Will frowns, meeting Hannibal’s eye as Hannibal glances back over his shoulder.

“If Jack was involved, we’d see it. Know any lock picking techniques?” Will jokes, unnerved.

Hannibal chuckles softly, and replies, “This boy may have something worth hiding, Will, but he is not very clever.”

“What do you mean?” Will asks, coming to stand at Hannibal’s shoulder.

He lets out an awkward bark of laughter when the safe door swings open easily, following Hannibal’s hand. The digital ‘lock’ button is blinking red; Will assumes that means the lock code wasn’t set correctly before Dan left.

“Ah, I believe these are what we require,” Hannibal murmurs, lifting a more expensive laptop and matching tablet out of the safe’s insides. Will snorts, and accepts both items as Hannibal passes them over his shoulder.

The laptop is locked with a password Will doesn’t care enough to figure out, but the tablet is openly accessible with just the slide of one finger across its screen. Hannibal stands at Will’s shoulder as Will quickly sorts through Dan’s apps and digital documents.

“He has everything saved to the cloud,” Will murmurs, before cutting himself off with a, “Fuck. Hannibal.”

Intrigued, Hannibal studies Will’s facial expression as he reaches to take the tablet from his grasp. He looks down at the screen.

“Oh,” Hannibal says stupidly, probably for the first time in his adult life.

In his hand he holds two week’s worth of photographs featuring he and Will, taken from various distances and angles. The first three pictures are of the two of them exiting their town car on the day of their arrival; the last are from earlier this afternoon, when they had been poolside with Sandra.

Will steps right up to Hannibal’s side, stomach brushing against Hannibal’s arm, and taps the screen. He navigates to another folder, this one full of variously named documents.

“Look at who it’s shared with,” He murmurs, pointing to one of two emails at the very top of the page.

Frowning, Hannibal reads the address out loud, “Freddie Lounds at gmail dot com.”

“Well, fuck,” Will grumbles. “I guess now we know where she’s been getting her information.”

Hannibal dims the tablet screen, and carefully sets it on top of Dan’s cheap decoy laptop.

“I now understand why he was intent to watch you so closely,” Hannibal murmurs, glancing over at Will.

Snorting, Will leafs through Dan’s prop notebook one more time, just to see if there’s anything they missed.

“Save the jealousy until you have a knife in your hand,” Will replies, without looking away from the fresh, almost untouched pages. He almost sounds bored.

Hannibal is genuinely amused as he sighs and says, “I had planned for no other way.”

~

Honestly, Sandra looks forward to dinner every night, and it’s not just because of the food.

Getting to know Max and Dr. Fell has been a strange, unexpected experience, but it hasn’t been without its rewards. They’re wonderful company - both deeply, devilishly charming - and despite her crush on the good doctor, she knows she’ll miss their presence when she leaves next week.

“Sorry we’re late,” Max grins, out of breath and a little flushed as he falls into his usual chair. Across the table Dan suddenly looks up from his cell phone, startled.

It’s strange to see an expression on his face, other than the standard issue of disdain. _That’s peculiar_ , Sandra thinks.

“Do we know what is on the menu for tonight?” Dr. Fell asks, sounding curious. As he spreads his napkin over his lap, he looks over at Sandra with an expectant look on his face.

Her returning smile is a kneejerk reaction, though not an unwanted one. She replies, “Roasted pig.”

“Ah, Dr. Fell’s favorite,” Max replies, setting his own napkin down. He looks over at Dr. Fell as he smoothes it down over his lap, hands steady, petting over his own thighs beneath the table.

Sandra has clearly missed something. She can feel it - a particular brand of surface tension that Max and Dr. Fell both seem unwilling to be the one to break. They stare at one another openly, Max with a twisted little smirk on his face, and Dr. Fell with an open, wondrous one. 

It isn’t hard to figure out what they were doing before their arrival. Everyone in the dining area must know it: it’s practically written in the stars.

“I dislike pork,” Dan says, interrupting Sandra’s thoughts. His voice is flat, and he looks over at Max carefully, as though he’s waiting for a reaction. “I prefer beef.”

It’s not a strange thing to say over dinner, but the way he says it hangs. The word _beef_ is loaded in a way that Sandra can’t decode.

Without realizing it, she lets her gaze volley back to Max.

“Tzav associated the consumption of beef with holiness,” Max replies. His voice is neutral, practically serene. “It was an act meant to bring the worshipper closer to god. Before slaughter, man was made to place their hands upon the animal and confess. Pigs, on the other hand, were not considered holy. They were thought to be cruel and unclean.”

Well, that’s… interesting, Sandra thinks. She frowns and glances over to Dr. Fell to gauge his reaction; their dinnertime conversations have never included religious debate before. She doesn’t know what she expected from Dr. Fell, but it was probably no different than what she gets: bright, moony eyes, and an amused smirk as he practically eats Max up from across the table.

“You are what you eat,” Dan volleys back, eyes narrowing. “Pigs were considered cruel. Consume cruelty, and it’s assumed you absorb their possessive qualities. So, like I said. I prefer _beef_.”

There’s another one of those weighted moments, as Dan and Max stare one another down. Sandra is trying to figure out a way to cut the sudden tension when Dr. Fell clears his throat, and waves over a nearby wine server to fill their glasses.

“Holiness, consummation, possession,” Dr. Fell lists off, smiling up at the wine server as she approaches with a bottle of white in one hand, and red in the other. “All have a place at the dinner table. I must admit, though - I much prefer seduction.”

Max reaches for his glass the second wine splashes against it, and frowns, “Seduction is too tactile. I would rather consume.”

“And you are so very good at it,” Dr. Fell replies, as close to joking as he gets. It breaks the tension, though; Max grins, sharp, and Sandra laughs despite the blush suddenly flushing through her cheeks. She feels stiff, on display, as she parrots the happy noise back at Dr. Fell.

Even still, the tension lingers. Sandra feels it as they are served dinner - Dan a vegetarian plate - and throughout the remainder of the course.

For some reason, she can’t shake off Dan. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

~

Will is on a knife’s edge all through dinner.

With the source of his anxiety now exposed, he is planning to curate the opportunity he has been given. What was a pit of fear, undefined other than its relation to the thought of losing Hannibal, has since been transformed into something new; something that Will can touch and bend and break. Consume, should he choose to. And he will choose.

The roasted pork is served whole, over a bed of asparagus and grilled pineapple. Will chews his portion thoughtfully, and listens to Hannibal’s voice as he and Sandra discuss baroque artwork. Hannibal is a fan; Sandra isn’t, largely due to lingering bitter feelings over a low grade she received on a college art project.

When Carravaggio comes up, Will tunes out. He finds himself focused on the food, at the thought of split hooves and eating oneself further away from god. He thinks of roasted pork, in general.

Hannibal’s will be much better, Will is sure.


	6. idol of roses

Sandra is left alone with Dan before dessert is even served.

“We will see you tomorrow, my dear,” Dr. Fell says, smiling down at her as he fastens his jacket. “We will expect you around five.”

Nodding, she smiles back, and also gets a half-committed goodbye from Max before they turn to leave. Honestly, it’s hard to look away as they go; Sandra finds herself staring as she sips her wine quietly, gaze trained on the way Dr. Fell’s hand rests on Max’s tailbone.

Max doesn’t seem to notice, too busy saying something to Dr. Fell over his shoulder to care.

“What was that about?” Dan asks, gesturing for another round of booze as Dr. Fell and Max fully disappear from view.

Shrugging, Sandra turns her attention back to the table, and traces her thumb around the thin rim of her wine glass.

“They’re having me for dinner,” She replies, half smiling. “Dr. Fell wanted to treat me to Korean barbecue.”

Dan seems to go through an entire rolodex of emotions. Sandra can see where it starts: surprise, and where it ends: disgust. It makes her curious. Even though she doesn’t know Dan very well, he’s been very out of character all night. From the thinly veiled attempts to barb Max into an argument, to drinking more than usual. It’s all wrong.

“Do you not like them, or something?” Sandra asks, arching an eyebrow. “You’re either staring at Max or trying to provoke him.”

Frowning, Dan adjusts his glass against the edge of the table. He sounds resigned as he replies, “I think they’re fine.”

“Is it the gay thing?” Sandra finds herself asking before she can stop herself. 

Luckily Dan seems to find it more humorous than anything. For the first time all night, he exhales the short breath of a laugh, and shakes his head.

“No,” He replies, as a server appears to refill his drink. He still sounds amused. “That’s not it.”

~

Hannibal waits in an arm chair for Dan’s impending arrival.

“It’s different,” Will says suddenly, looking up from where he had been studying the blade of his knife.

The look Hannibal gives him in return is somewhere between intrigue and tranquility. He raises one eyebrow slightly, a sign for Will to continue, and curls his fingers against the rough texture of the chair’s arm. Somehow, Will feels the sensation against the back of his neck. It sends him curling in on himself, breath stuttering at the phantom touch.

“How is it different?” Hannibal asks, and this - this, Will knows. He knows how to do this with Hannibal.

It’s practically built into him.

“Waiting,” Will replies, leaning back against the counter. He crosses his arms, the knife still in one hand, and clarifies, “Stalking. Preparing. It’s different than Dolarhyde was.”

Hannibal smiles, cheekbones more defined in the dark light, and says, “But no less beautiful.”

“It’s not beautiful yet,” Will muses, glancing towards the door. “We haven’t done anything.”

Amused, Hannibal gives him a cheeky grin, and replies, “Then I suppose I simply have faith.”

Will laughs despite himself, suddenly taken with the idea of Hannibal worshipping at the altar of their creation. It isn’t a bad thought at all, and Will finds himself weighing the concept thoroughly. The idea that Hannibal has so much faith in him - in them - that he is filled with pure reverence is enough to light a pit of devotion in Will’s stomach.

“That makes one of us, then,” Will replies softly, even though he’s mostly joking.

As Hannibal opens his mouth to reply, there’s the sound of a key in the door.

It’s palpable, how quickly the energy inside the room changes. Will finds his muscles tightening, and he steadies the knife slowly, letting the seconds melt away as the lock tumblers roll into place and the door knob begins to turn.

He doesn’t look at Hannibal - he doesn’t need to. Will can sense the utter serenity that blankets him, from his feet planted on the floor, to the way his fingers rest gently on each arm rest. Hannibal is unmistakably grounded. Will, on the other hand, trembles with excitement. The pieces of himself that he does not yet know begin to ricochet around inside, leaving him a barely controlled and absolutely snarling with the realization.

The differences between them compliment one another. Will wants to taste this victory, and Hannibal’s controlled approach would not allow him to do that. Tonight, he wants to gnaw on the bone.

“Daniel,” Hannibal greets, jovial.

Will looks up just in time to see the blood completely drain from Dan’s face. Those who play with fire are bound to get burned, Will thinks to himself, as he takes three steps to close the distance between he and their kill. For one split second, Dan looks like he’s going to run, but he’s so terrified his flight response has completely failed him. He stands completely still, eyes so wide the white parts are showing. Will quietly closes and locks the door behind them.

“Now then,” Hannibal continues, inching forward in his chair. He laces his fingers together between his knees, and says, tone gentle yet despondent, “That was not very nice what you said about us, Daniel.”

Behind Daniel, Will feels himself snarl. There’s no other way to describe it. He bears his teeth and grimaces, and lets the weight of the knife hanging heavy in his hand steady him.

“I didn’t say it,” Dan finally manages, trying not to stutter. He blurts, “Freddie wrote it.”

Will gets close, grinning sharply at Dan’s knee jerk reaction to jump. Will supposes having a known cannibal so close to your skin would cause anyone to have a little fright.

“But you _told_ her, did you not?” Will asks, his voice quiet, calm. “You’ve been watching us for weeks.”

Gulping audibly, Dan manages, “I’m sorry - I didn’t, I didn’t mean - I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“No, you’re not,” Will replies, amused. He presses the very edge of the knife against Dan’s side, through his shirt. “What’s that you said about preferring beef, again?”

Hannibal stands up and crosses the room, coming to a stop directly in front of Dan’s shaking body. His eyes are dark, endless, as deep as the night sky they stood beneath just a few nights ago. Over Dan’s shoulder, Will can see his entire world reflected in Hannibal’s gaze.

If they are ever caught, these will be the memories that get him through.

“I believe our friend Daniel indicated that pigs are considered cruel creatures of the earth,” Hannibal murmurs, staring at Dan’s face. Beneath Hannibal’s heavy gaze, Dan simpers, trying to make himself appear smaller. He is no longer the bland imprint inside of Will’s head that he once was. “Is what you have done not cruel, as well? Perhaps more unkind than any pig has knowingly been.”

When realization dawns, Dan automatically takes a step back, a soft ‘no’ escaping his mouth as he trips backwards over Will’s feet.

“You were very rude, Daniel,” Hannibal continues, taking another step forward, until Dan’s back is almost completely pressed to Will’s front. Will can feel him trembling like a leaf; the rhythm of his heart detectable even through his back. A trapped animal, close to complete confinement. “What is to be done about that?”

There’s a moment of complete silence as Will looks at Hannibal over Dan’s shoulder, and smiles. In the dark of the room, it’s wolfish, stretching from one side of his face to the other. Will knows that if Hannibal could, he would see this smile every day, forever.

“I have one idea,” Will breathes, plunging the knife into Dan’s back.

~

Sandra is burping from the champagne and stumbling down the path to her room later that night.

It’s true, she’s always been an expensive drunk, but drinking three different men away tonight has been a personal best.

The weather is just a little bit windy as she totters around a sharp turn and has to duck underneath a palm tree leaf. She doesn’t think she’d live here forever, but if she could have just a few more months, it would be a good life.

As she walks by Dan’s place, lights off, she frowns, remembering their interactions and his conversation with Max earlier in the night. It’s possible they knew each other before bumping into one another here; Dan and Max seemed to be around the same age, and for some reason Dan is holding some kind of personal disdain. If they didn’t know each other previously, maybe Dan has some kind of vendetta against rich socialites, and has decided to take it out on Max.

She’s heard crazier things.

Bleary-eyed, Sandra gets her key into the doorknob and turns. She can’t wait to kick her shoes off and crawl into bed.

~

It’s a little sloppy and within the realm of ‘urban legend,’ but they’re working with limited supplies and less resources than they would normally have.

Will studies Dan, dead and laid in the bathtub, and tilts his head to the side. The meat will be bitter, but it was worth it to get the reaction they did. Sandra probably won’t even notice the taste, Will muses, as Hannibal comes into the small bathroom.

“We must work quickly,” Hannibal murmurs, pausing to lean his face against the side of Will’s head. He inhales deeply, and Will watches in the reflection of the mirror over the sink as Hannibal’s eyes drift close in reverence. Hannibal’s voice is deeper than usual, slightly husky as he adds, “We do not have very much time.”

Though Will prefers to end nights like these covered in blood, tonight he has restrained himself. There’s a particular level of care that was necessary for this event, and they have hit every mark. Nobody will know that this has happened until they’re well fed and safely off of the resort property.

And should the local police department be notified, Hannibal has a particularly nice wad of cash ready.

“It can wait for five minutes,” Will murmurs, breath still heavy and uneven from the fight as he reaches for Hannibal’s face and pulls their mouths together. Hannibal’s expression jumps, eyes pinching shut, as he leans into Will’s embrace easily. After everything it is still so easy to steal a moment, even one as short as this.

Will’s fingers feel dry and powdery from the latex gloves as he touches Hannibal’s bare neck, and then the back of his head.

“We must finish,” Hannibal breathes, pulling away an inch to rest their foreheads together. 

Despite their care, Will has a streak of blood across his face regardless; it starts at his temple, and streaks down his cheek until it disappears into his beard. The subtlety of fresh blood stappled across Will’s old scar is not lost on Hannibal. He finds himself stroking the line of damaged flesh reverently, thumb gentle and light on the familiar and beloved skin.

“Jack is going to see this,” Will murmurs, swallowing tightly at the wicked look Hannibal gives him in return.

Licking his lips, Hannibal nods and closes his eyes before leaning their temples together gently.

“Then we must make it worth his time,” He muses.

~

Even though Will is sure the imagery is going to be lost on Jack, he hopes it jogs something for Sandra.

They split Dan’s feet, the left first and then the right, and bind them with a cheap, cut up t-shirt until they look like hooves. This won’t be comparable to the love letters the Chesapeake Ripper used to leave for Will, but it will get their point across nicely. As Hannibal removes Dan’s flanks, belly and kidney, Will arranges his limbs as best he can. What they’re limited to in resources, they make up for in presentation.

By the time they’re done, Dan is a beautiful piece of art.

“This act of consumption will not bring us closer to god,” Hannibal says contentedly, as they’re cleaning up the very last of the blood stains, and the sun is just beginning to peak from below the horizon.

Will stands up, hands damp, and replies, “God isn’t the one I am compelled to be close to.”

“No,” Hannibal murmurs, entertained. “He’s not.”


	7. kissing in the blue dark

The difference in luxury between their side of the resort and hers is palpable.

Sandra is feeling a little Vivian Ward-ish as she makes her way through the manicured grounds that lead to Dr. Fell and Max’s beach front villa. For some reason, on this side of the property the grass is a little greener, the sand a little whiter. Somehow even the sky is more beautiful, bright and crisp and blue.

As she walks up the three short steps of the Fells villa, she notices a pair of semi worn-in runners set on the edge of the porch. It disarms her: here she’s been this whole time, considering the two of them near inhuman, and all along one of them has been running errands in a pair of shitty old sneakers.

Something tells her they belong to Max. She can only see Dr. Fell wearing perfectly clean white tennis shoes.

“Hello?” She calls out, knocking on the wooden frame of the screen door. The inside door is already wide open, giving her an unobstructed view into the space they’ve been living in for the last two weeks.

Even through the mosquito netting, it’s clear the place is well curated and equally beautiful. It’s thoughtfully decorated, not just a mish-mash of teak colored furniture like her own. As she shifts closer to the screen, she gets a glimpse of Dr. Fell’s shoulder through the floor to ceiling windows that cover the far wall. He’s smiling and bent over a barbecue.

Just as she goes to knock again, Max comes back into the living room from the back porch, and hurries towards where she’s waiting.

“Sorry about that,” He apologizes, readily holding the door open. “I thought we’d hear you better.”

Smiling, Sandra steps past his outstretched arm, and onto the neatly polished hardwood floors.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” She replies, toeing off her shoes when she sees that Max is already in bare feet. Her wedge sandals look strange alongside a pair of expensive looking men’s dress shoes, and a pair of flip flops. “I was only out there a minute.”

Max offers her a sharp, genuine smile, and holds one arm out to usher her towards the back porch.

“I hope you’re hungry,” He says, touching her back as she steps through the ocean facing glass doors. “Dr. Fell made way more than three people can comfortably eat.”

More than anything, it’s a shock to see Dr. Fell out of the semi-professional wear she’s used to seeing him in at dinner. Here, on he and Max’s back porch, Dr. Fell wears only a pair of loose looking charcoal pants, and a crew-neck shirt. The fact that Sandra can see his forearms almost makes her feel like she’s seeing him in a state of undress.

“Sandra,” Dr. Fell greets her, grinning through the smoke pouring from the barbecue. “You are right on time.”

Max offers her one of the seats around the table and asks, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, I would love a drink,” Sandra smiles, taking in the elaborate table dressings as she settles into a chair. “Anything with rum or tequila is great.”

She looks over her shoulder at the ocean, rolling gently against the surf. It truly is beautiful here; she hasn’t done a good enough job of getting out of her room and the dining areas. As she’s debating signing up for morning beach yoga, Max sets a fancy looking drink down in front of her.

“Tequila sunrise,” He says, pouring his own tumbler of bourbon.

Smiling, Sandra pulls her drink closer by the napkin, and says, “Thanks, this looks great.”

“Max is a wonderful bartender,” Dr. Fell supplies, gently closing the barbecue lid. “He has a way with spirits.”

With a laugh, Max settles in a sprawl on the chair opposite hers, and leans his head back. As Dr. Fell runs one hand through Max’s hair, Max looks at Sandra and amends, “That’s just a nice way of saying I’m an alcoholic.”

“Not true at all,” Dr. Fell disputes. Sandra feels herself blush when Dr. Fell tugs at Max’s hair, none too gently. “You have a discriminating palate.”

Sandra finds herself smiling when Max catches her eye and shakes his head, offering up a mouthed ‘no’ even as Dr. Fell continues to go on about how refined Max’s sense of taste apparently is. It’s a strange thing to see Dr. Fell doting so openly. Up until now, he has looked at Max as though he has hung the stars, but not yet acted like it.

Their relationship is a complicated one, of this Sandra is sure.

“How long have you two been together for?” She asks, thumbing a bit of salt off of the edge of her glass.

In perfect synchronization, Dr. Fell and Max both answer, “One year,” and “Four years,” respectively.

“Well there’s an inconsistent answer,” Sandra laughs, amused. She doesn’t catch the sharp expression that passes between the two of them, like the hot blade of a knife through butter.

Dr. Fell makes a quiet sound, and then corrects, “We were separated for a short time.”

“It’s complicated,” Max adds, voice flat. All of a sudden he’s very interested in his bourbon.

Sandra knows she’s accidentally pressed on a bruise. Ignoring the chasm gaping in front of them, she takes a sip of her drink, and lets the sound of the surf wash over her as though she is being baptised for the first time.

“Trouble in paradise,” She grins.

With a pained expression, Max offers up a tight smile, and sighs, “In the historical sense, sure. Not lately. Do you have anyone?”

“Just the soon to be ex-husband,” Sandra replies immediately. 

Every time she says it, it leaves her tongue just a little easier. The first time she had to admit her impending divorce out loud, the words got stuck in her throat. It ended with wobbling lips and big, fat tears falling all over her manicurist’s tech table. That had been an awkward appointment.

“Ah, perhaps we should try to find you an eligible bachelor, then,” Dr. Fell teases, taking a seat between them with his own drink. It seems that the food has been taken care of for the next few minutes at least. “I have heard this island has many eligible men.”

Max frowns, and, only half teasing, asks, “You’ve heard that, huh?”

A bolt of energy passes between them; Sandra feels herself get sucked in as they oogle one another, clearly teasing yet still right on the knife’s edge. The games they play together are much more dangerous than they appeared at first glance. When she originally met them, she thought that Dr. Fell was just a rich doctor, and Max has socialite boyfriend. Seeing them like this, it becomes clear that is not the whole case.

“Well,” Sandra interrupts, trying to break the tension. “If you have any of them hiding out in here, can you send them my way?”

Dr. Fell laughs, gaze finally moving away from Max’s, and replies, “It would be my honor.”

~

The sun is beginning to set when Dr. Fell serves the food.

“Pears and Camembert,” Dr. Fell says, setting a plate of the fruit and cheese on the table over her shoulder.

Everything she’s seen so far has been exquisitely decorated, from the table settings to their first appetizers and now this. The strangest thing is that neither of them seem bothered; to Dr. Fell, he is simply serving a meal. Max looks at the food appreciatively as each plate is set in front of him, but does not seem overly surprised at its contents.

“Wow, this looks beautiful,” Sandra manages, as the main platter is set on the table between them.

The meat smells delicious, like garlic and smoked wood chips. Dr. Fell stands at the head of the table and cuts the meat easily, the blade in his hand sinking through the pork without resistance.

Max sets a fresh tequila sunrise in front of her and Sandra smiles, appreciative.

It’s strange, seeing them outside the gloss of the dining room. While Sandra would consider them attentive to one another in public, it’s nothing like this. In the safety of their own home they seem to work as extensions of one another: as Dr. Fell plates their food, Max takes care of their drinks and the utensils. She never sees them bump into one another or falter.

“Ah, now to enjoy the meal,” Dr. Fell says, sounding pleased with himself. He sits down and adjusts his chair.

Smiling, Sandra picks up her fork, and digs in.

She tries the pork first, mostly because it smells so good - it’s hard to resist. The noise that comes out of her mouth is a little embarrassing, but she can’t help it when the food practically melts on her tongue.

“Jesus - Dr. Fell, this is delicious,” Sandra breathes, brow tightening as she searches out her next bite.

Across the table, Dr. Fell smiles and replies, “I am happy to hear you like it.”

“Where do you get your meat?” She asks, pressing another piece onto her fork. “It’s so fresh. Is it organic? I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

Max chews his food carefully, eyes closed as though it is important he absorbs the flavor. He has never taken this kind of care for any other meal she has seen him consume.

“It is a bit… bitter,” He says, cracking his eyes back open. Across the table, Dr. Fell looks amused.

Sandra finds it hard to temper her confusion as she watches the interaction. Both are barely containing smiles at one another, and that expression is back on Dr. Fell’s face, eyes glossy and impossibly filled with love.

“The pork is organic, Sandra,” Dr. Fell says finally, removing his gaze from Max. “But I’m afraid I cannot give away my secrets.”

Smiling a bit vacantly, Sandra spears another piece of the meat onto her fork, and makes a soft noise of agreement.

“They’re yours to keep, then,” She says, watching as Dr. Fell looks back at her, delighted.

~

She is - admittedly - a bit drunk two hours later.

It turns out she can’t drink Dr. Fell and Max under the table, after all. They’ve matched her for every glass she’s been poured, and so far both of them seem to have their heads on much better than she imagines hers seems. Tequila and rum are a hell of a combination.

“How did you meet?” Sandra asks, both elbows propped on the table.

Max is sitting in the chair Dr. Fell vacated in favor of preparing dessert. He smiles at her, amused, maybe even a little bashful, and shrugs one shoulder.

“At an event,” He replies. Sandra doesn’t know if he’s being purposely vague - like, was this some kind of escort with a heart of gold situation? Maybe they met on Grindr? - but finds herself accepting his answer regardless. Whatever it was that brought them together, it’s pretty immediately clear that Max wants to keep it private. “It took a while to come around, but he convinced me.”

Now that’s an interesting thought. Who, other than Max, would not be immediately charmed by Dr. Fell?

“Flambeed vanilla poached pears with apricot sauce,” Dr. Fell announces, with perfect timing.

Sandra looks up as he walks back onto the back patio with a tray held firmly in both hands.

Like everything else Dr. Fell does, serving dessert is a presentation. He removes all three dessert plates from the tray, and uses a small matchbook to ignite each pile of fruit. With the already low light of being outside, the pears turn bright blue for a moment before burning themselves out.

“Looks great,” Sandra smiles, accepting the dessert fork that Dr. Fell hands her.

He looks at her warmly, clearly very appreciative, before turning his attention back to his own plate.

~

By the time Sandra is preparing to go home, the tiki torches around the back porch are burning brightly.

“I have a yoga class at eight,” She manages, slurring her words a little as she sets both palms against the chair arms to push herself into a standing position. Her heart beats loudly in her chest at the sudden change in blood pressure. “Gonna be hungover already. Can’t be late, too.”

Dr. Fell follows her movements, standing up from the table and watching as she steadies herself against an empty chair.

“I understand completely,” He agrees readily, catching her by the elbow as she almost stumbles.

Behind them, Max sits, still splayed out in one of the dining chairs like a king on a throne.

“It was nice to spend time with you, Sandra,” He says, catching her off-guard.

As she turns back to look at him, she feels the hairs on the backs of her arms stand up. The expression on his face is practically painted on: for one flash of a second, there is nothing there beneath it. But before she can catch herself, the warm expression she’s used to seeing from him flickers on, and the life in his eyes is there again.

“You too,” She manages, automatically stepping away from the table when she feels Dr. Fell touch her back.

Dr. Fell points her in the direction of the sliding glass doors, and says, “Come. I will show you out.”

~

Something doesn’t feel right as Sandra makes her way back to her room.

She isn’t scared. The way she feels is…. insidious. Like something is right there underneath the skin, but she can’t quite make the itch go away. The alcohol in her system doesn’t help, either, it clouds her judgement and distracts her before she can pinpoint exactly why she feels so unnerved.

On the way back to her room, she crosses through a small, employee only side parking lot.

She sees the police car parked in the emergency stall, but doesn’t think anything of it.

Drunk, she continues onto her room.


	8. palm trees in black and white

Sandra’s alarm wakes her up the next morning.

Face smooshed into her pillow, she jerks awake and groans, fumbling with the contents of her bedside table in an effort to stop the noise. It takes her far longer than she’d ever admit, and she loses a bottle of lotion to the dark space behind the bed in the process.

“Fuck,” She groans, pushing herself up onto one elbow.

This is definitely the most hungover she’s been since her thirtieth birthday. There will be no yoga taking place today, with the exception of crouching in front of the toilet bowl. Even that might be too much to handle.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, she blinks against the bright lights spilling through the window, and looks in the general direction of her kitchenette. She should get a glass of water. She should get some kind of liquid in her body that isn’t primarily tequila and rum.

Her eyes focus on the newly unfamiliar silhouette of her kitchen table, and she immediately feels her blood run cold.

There, in the middle of the table, sits an expensive looking bottle of wine. Beside it, a card gently resting against the side of the glass. She was drunk last night, but she was aware. She did not come home with anything, much less a bottle of booze. If she didn’t bring it home, it means that someone was in here between when she fell asleep last night, and when she woke up this morning.

Goosebumps break out on the backs of her arms as she jolts into a standing position, and staggers over to the table.

_Dear Sandra,_

_Thank you for the lovely company over dinner last night. It was a pleasure to spend time with you._

_We hope you stay well. Please accept this bottle of Bordeaux in our absence today._

_Warmly,  
Dr. Fell  & Max Fell_

Her hand comes up to her mouth as she stands frozen, re-reading the card.

This is - what is this?! She can’t keep herself from wandering into hysterical territory as she sets the card back down onto the table, and takes a step back. This wasn’t on her table last night, was it? Did Dr. Fell somehow arrange for the resort to drop it off in her absence over dinner?

If that were the case, she knows she would have drunkenly honed in on it last night.

As she’s standing in the middle of the room, looking for any obvious signs of break and entry, there’s a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” She calls, more of a knee jerk reaction than any attempt at self preservation.

There is no pause or hesitation before the reply, “A message from the concierge!”

The fucking concierge? Who is she, the resort princess now? Frowning, she makes her way towards the door, undoes the lock - which is still fully engaged - and swings the door open.

Sure enough, one of the front desk concierge people she’s seen many times is standing on the other side.

“We received a message for you yesterday,” He smiles, bubbly and bursting with one semester of tourism training clearly fresh under his belt. “We were instructed to deliver it today.”

Frowning, Sandra takes the note, thanks the concierge, and shuts the door in his face.

What the fuck, she thinks, glancing around the room one more time before she begins to tear the delicately sealed note open. It sounds crazy, but it almost feels like Dr. Fell is here somewhere, watching her. It’s like he followed her through the door last night and never left. Which is patently ridiculous, she knows.

_If I didn’t say goodbye before leaving last night, call 410-889-7289. It’s important. -- Dan_

“Alright,” Sandra breathes, immediately crumpling the card up. “No thank you.”

~

She lasts approximately an hour, before the slowly increasing terror and curiosity get the better of her.

In-between changing her return flight ticket date online, she googles Dan’s name.

The first result is a writer profile for some website called Tattle Crime. She clicks on it impatiently, and looks at the resulting headshot of Dan that stares back at her. In the picture he’s wearing a lot of makeup and smiling; it’s much different than the controlled, pale, quite frankly boring man that she came to know on the island.

She reads the short bio that includes absolutely nothing of substance, and then clicks on a link titled ‘Read recent articles by Dan.’

“Fuck,” Sandra blurts, as the next page loads. Between the red design blocking, there sits a photograph of Dr. Fell and Max in all their glory.

It was clearly taken somewhere on the island here, the resolution is not perfect and it’s a little backlit, but it’s them and the palm trees behind them are nauseatingly familiar. The photos are captioned with two names she doesn’t recognize: Hannibal Lecter, and Will Graham.

Scrolling down the page, Sandra feels her heart stop when she reads the most recent headline, posted only an hour ago.

_Breaking: Tattle Crime Reporter Found Dead_

~

“Do you have the tickets?” Hannibal asks, hoisting another piece of their luggage from the back of the town car.

On the curb, Will - now dressed in a more familiar black jacket and dark jeans - nods and pats his chest pocket.

“Passports?” He asks in return, watching as Hannibal sets the luggage down on the sidewalk, and then closes the trunk.

With a nod, Hannibal waves the town car driver off, and then reaches up to brush his fingers through Will’s hair.

“Belarus is waiting,” He murmurs, pleased.

~

_TATTLE CRIME REPORTER: LATEST VICTIM OF HANNIBAL THE CANNIBAL? Infamous cannibal couple, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham, have been hiding out at a South African resort for weeks._

_News came in early Sunday morning that beloved Tattle Crime reporter, Dan Dumont, failed to board his return flight from Abidjan to Baltimore. It was later discovered that Dan had not yet checked out of his hotel room, located at the same resort that Lecter and Graham had been hiding in. A missing persons report has since been filed._

_Using aliases that were previously known to Baltimore Police, Lecter and Graham have spent two luxurious weeks oceanside so far. Dan was on location at the same resort, completing research for a future editorial._

_Visit Tattle Crime tomorrow to get further information on the police report that was filed in Dan’s absence, and to see an exclusive photo spread featuring the cannibal couple on vacation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE! This got way longer than expected, but it was a lot of fun to write. I would love to hear what you thought of it, comments are much appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> Come say 'hi' on [tumblr](http://bonedaddies.tumblr.com)!


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